


Tabula Rasa

by LylaRivers



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:38:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylaRivers/pseuds/LylaRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post DOFP.  Charles uses his telepathy to wipe his own mind so he can forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It’s altogether too much.  He doesn’t want to even be in his own mind anymore.  The assassination attempt, Raven, Erik, the future that may or may not have been averted…  Well.  He doesn’t want to know anymore.

It’s not worth the pain to remember.  He couldn’t hear the voices before- not with the serum.  But he can’t start taking it again.  Even with the allure of being able to walk, he can’t find it within himself to deny his powers like that.  Not now with Erik… Magneto… still on the loose. And not after the sheer joy of using them again- the rush he’d forgotten still existed.

But that small high isn’t enough.  It’s not worth it, to bear all the pain of being abandoned again.  It is our privilege to bear other’s pain, without breaking, the older him had said.  Or something like that.  Charles doesn’t want to remember that look into the future too closely.  Not now.  Not with that other him, and the other Erik… well.

He had been so hopeful.  Thought that ten years was enough to change Erik for the better.  That it could become something more- like he had wanted it to be.  What it used to be.

People don’t change he thinks bitterly, more than once.  Erik couldn’t abandon his vengeance.  And by not abandoning that vengeance, he effectively abandoned Charles, instead.

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.

But there is a way.  A way to just… forget.  That’s what he did to Moira, a decade ago, after Cuba.  He did it to protect all of mutantkind, then.  And now…?

Well.  Why doesn’t he deserve to protect himself, after all that’s happened?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I didn't think there'd be much of an interest.... welp. I'll post a few more of the chapters I actually have. Who knows- I might even write more for this story!

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

The blue man blanches.  “Professor?”

“Who’s that?” I ask.  I don’t know any professors.  Not here.  I don’t seem to remember much either.

“Professor, what did you do?” the blue man asks sadly.

“I’m sorry.  I really don’t know who you’re talking about.  And, I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave my house.”  I’m doing my best not to freak out about the sheer wrongness of the blue fur on this… man?  Is he a man?

The blue fur melts away.  “I’m sorry,” the man says, standing right where the blue furred man just had been.  His whole demeanor changes.  “I really don’t have anywhere else to go.  You took me in after Cuba, you see.  I didn’t have anywhere else to go.  The last ten years, I’ve been living here with you.  Helping with the house’s upkeep, as it were.  I’m Hank.  Hank McCoy.”

Cuba?  The name rings a faint bell- but I do my utmost to ignore it.  Ten years?  How much of my life am I missing?  “I’m… Charles.  Charles Xavier.”  I think.

“Yes.  Yes, I know,” the man- Hank says.  “Sorry to have… ah… startled you earlier.”

“Why did you call me professor?” I ask, curious.

“You’re a teacher,” Hank says, as if it were obvious.  “You got your doctorate ten years ago, in genetics.  You used to have a school here, before the war.  You taught a lot of people.  You taught me,” he adds, looking slightly wistful.

“I’m sorry… I don’t seem to remember much of the past ten years.  Or much before that.”  Whoever this man thinks I am, I must be admirable, based on that wistful expression.  If this Hank is to be trusted.  “What war?”

“The one in Vietnam,” Hank says sadly.  “Most of the students enlisted.  Or they were drafted.”

“There’s a war in Vietnam?”

“There was.  At least it didn’t turn out to be World War Three,” Hank says bitterly.  “Charles, what did you do?”

“What did I do?” I ask.  I don’t know what he means.

“Your telepathy?”

“You mean reading minds?” I laugh.  “That’s impossible.  I would have thought, before today, at least, that a creature like you was totally impossible too.”

“A creature like me,” Hank mutters sadly, just barely loud enough for me to hear him. He looks somewhere between offended and sad.

I don’t know what it is I’ve done, to offend this man.  He seems to expect so much from me- but I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that respect.  Nor do I remember who he is, or who I am, if I’m being totally honest with myself.

It’s a saddening feeling.  “I’m sorry,” I say again.  It seems to be the thing to say.  “I don’t seem to remember much.  This is all very strange to me, you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Hank says, suddenly.  “If you’ll excuse me, I think I have a few phone calls to make.”

***

“Rav… Mystique,” I hear Hank say, through the walls.  I’m not trying to listen in.  I just want to remember.

There’s a slight silence, where I’m sure the other person… whatever a RavMystique is… answers.  Says something.

“Look, I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t an emergency.  But it’s Charles.  He needs help- he lost his memory, somehow.  I don’t know how to reverse it.  And he doesn’t know me,” Hank says.  That makes me feel badly.  But I’m not sure why.

There’s another silence.  “Yes, I understand that.  But maybe, he needs a familiar face, from farther back.”

More silence.  The other voice sounds female, and rather unhappy.  “No, not your real face,” Hank says, and now he sounds even sadder.  “He doesn’t remember his own powers, let alone mine or yours.  I came back to the house, in my other form, and… well.  It wasn’t pretty.”

I roll my wheelchair down the hall.  Why do I have a wheelchair?  I’m probably not meant to hear this conversation.

In the room that must be mine, there’s a small syringe on the table, next to a note.  Take me it reads.  Meant for me?  It’s a familiar handwriting.  Mine, probably.  I don’t remember my own handwriting.  How sad is that?

I take the syringe in hand.  It must be for some preexisting disease, right?  Otherwise, I wouldn’t tell myself to take it.  With that firmly in mind, I press the syringe to a vein in my arm, and push.

***

There’s a woman at the door of the house.  “Hello?” she calls.

She’s very pretty- and very familiar, too.  The long blonde hair triggers something in my memory, even if I’m not quite sure what it is.  

Hank runs to the door.  “I’ve got it,” he tells me.

“Do you know her?”

“You should, too,” Hank replies.  He sounds sad, again.  A lot of things seem to make him sad.  A lot of things about me seem to make him sad.  “She’s your sister.”

My sister?  A shot of recognition flashes through my mind, leaving me momentarily breathless. I… remember.  How could I not remember Raven?

Hank opens the door, while I’m struggling to remember.  “Thank you for coming,” I hear him say quietly.

There’s a bitter sounding laugh from the girl- Raven, clearly.  My sister.  “How could I not?”

Slowly, I wheel myself in.  I’m wondering why I seem to need the wheelchair.  After taking the syringe two days ago, my legs feel fine.  I was walking, earlier, but Hank seemed shocked and worried without me using the wheelchair.  To spare him the worry, I’ve taken to using it.

Raven comes over to the chair.  “Charles? Do you remember me?” she asks.

That voice.  How could I forget that voice- or that face?  “Raven.”

She makes a sound, that sounds like she’s choking.  “I’m called Mystique, now,” she says.

“You changed your name?”

“About ten years ago, now.”

Ten years ago.  Everything seems to stem back to ten years ago.  Why can’t I remember?  This is so frustrating!

“Oh.  Of course.  Mystique.”  That solves the problem of what a “RavMystique” is. Hank must have problems remembering her changed name like I seem to.

“Charles, what did you do to yourself?” she asks.  She sounds sad too- just like Hank did when I didn’t recognize him.  Whoever I was when I couldn’t remember, I must have been a very special person.

“I don’t know.  I don’t remember.”

“I see what you mean, Hank,” Mystique says, turning to Hank.  “I’ll see if I can find him.  Mind you, we didn’t part on the best of terms, if you recall.  I doubt Erik will make himself easy for me to find.”

Hank gives me a smile.  “I’m sure you’ll be able to.  He’s got quite the magnetic pull, I hear.”

Mystique laughs, and it’s like the most beautiful music I can ever remember hearing.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Things come back in flashes, but nothing sticks around.  There’s nothing tangible to remind me of… well, I’m not sure what.  Whatever it is I should be remembering, I suppose.

***

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Hank looks tight and nervous- he’s obviously not comfortable with this new man in the mansion.  He’s tall, and I can’t see more than the imposing figure he cuts.  The magenta cape looks a bit ridiculous, the heavy looking metal helmet even more so.  Still, he wears it well.

Even with the crazy costume, there’s no denying the aura of power this man seems to project.  There’s something about him that demands respect and authority.  And Hank seems very reluctant to give it to him.

He seems so familiar.  There’s just something about him that tugs at my memory.  The helmet gives me a shudder of revulsion I don’t quite understand.

He turns to look at me.  The helmet comes off.  I stare at that face- I know that face.  How do I…?  And when I meet his eyes, my whole world goes black.

***

Diving into the ocean after this strange man, who I’ve never met before, but I instinctively understand needs me.  “You’re not alone, Erik.”

A memory- not mine, but his.  The soft glow of candles, a muttered language I can’t quite identify.  “I’ve always believed the true balance lies somewhere between rage and serenity.”  And the sensor turns, slowly but surely.  “That was a beautiful memory.  Thank you, Erik.”

A beautiful memory for a beautiful man- not that I can say that. The smile on his face, the laughter when it finally works- it all serves to make him even more beautiful, perhaps painfully so.  It’s all I can do to not reach out and touch the side of that beautifully laughing face.

Cuba.

Shaw.  I hold him in place, and he dies.  The coin goes straight through his skull, and I feel every bit of pain the ex-Nazi feels.  He deserves this pain, doesn’t he?  For what he did? For what he did to Erik?  Maybe now, Erik will have his peace.  Will find that point between rage and serenity, for good this time.

And then, he puts that terrible helmet on.

The missiles.  You can’t do this.  You can’t do this.  But I can’t stop him, not with the helmet on.  He won’t hear me.  Too much rage.  Not enough serenity.  Or perhaps too much.  How is he so calm?

Searing pain in my back.  “This isn’t her fault.  It’s yours, Erik.”  And he leaves me.

Breaking this man out of the Pentagon.  Giving him a second chance- like the one I got, when the man called Logan came to me.  The anger at being abandoned.  The joy of having him back.

And the inevitable, but still sudden betrayal.

I don’t want to remember anymore.

***

“Charles?”

That voice.  I know that voice.  “What are you doing here?” I ask.  I can barely remember the last time my voice was laced with such venom- perhaps it was on the plane, rushing Erik in such a rage.  But I remember now.  I remember everything.

“I came here for you,” Erik says.

“No, you didn’t.  You came here for the amnesiatic,” I snap, hurling words at him like spears.  If I break him first, then he can’t break me.  Not again.  I can’t handle it a third time.

“Charles,” Erik whispers again, voice anguished.

“No.  Don’t talk to me,” I snap again.  Everything within me begs to relent- I could listen for hours if all he does is talk about nonsense.  But I can’t.  I can't go through the heartbreak of having him back again, and losing him so soon after.  I was fool enough to hope, once.  Never again, as Erik likes to say.

And despite myself, I can feel the tears starting to drip down my face.  Disgusted by my own weakness, I turn away.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Erik whispers.  There’s a slight feeling at my cheek- Erik reaches out to wipe a tear away.  Then he leaves.

I don’t want to remember.  I don’t want to remember.  This was why I wanted to forget.

“Professor?” Hank asks from the doorway.

“Hello, Hank,” I whisper.  I can’t bring myself to face him- not after the last week.

“I thought it would help, bringing him here,” Hank says, apologetically.  “I remember you… well.  You used to be close, before everything.  I just wanted you to be yourself again.”

Close.  What a joke.  Not close enough.

“I wanted to forget,” I say, voice cracking.  “I wanted to forget him.”

There’s a silence.  “I didn’t know.  I’m sorry,” Hank says.

“It’s not your fault, Hank.”  But it is.  It’s his fault Erik is here now. But Hank didn’t know.  He was just trying to help- just like he always does.

I realize with a start that I can still hear Erik’s thoughts- just the buzz of him around the house.  It’d been several days, clearly, since I last took the serum- I remember taking it while amnesiatic- and he isn’t wearing that hated helmet.  So he hasn’t left yet, either.

I could just slip in and… but no.

“Professor?”

“You were saying something?” I ask Hank, starting guiltily.

“You looked miles away.  Sorry if I was interrupting something,” Hank mutters.

“No, not at all.”  I smile and nod in all the right places, barely paying attention to Hank’s monologue.  Instead, I focus on that little buzz of consciousness, proof that Erik is still here.

***

“Charles?  Will you at least listen to me?  Hear me out?” Erik asks.

I had thought I was alone outside.  Clearly, my skills are somewhat rusty, if I couldn’t hear and feel Erik sneaking up behind me.  “I have nothing left to say to you.  Please go away.”  I’m just a little proud of how steady my voice is.

“Then don’t say anything.  Just listen to me,” Erik begs.

“You tried to kill Raven.  Twice,” I say, turning away.  “I don’t care what you have to say, Erik.  I’m sure it’s much the same as it’s always been.”

“Give me a little credit, Charles.”

“Credit for what?” I demand, laughing bitterly.  “Not trying to kill me, too?  That’s rather funny- it’d make a nice change, after Cuba.”

“I didn’t ever mean for that to happen!  I never wanted it to end like this!”

“Oh, of course not.  No, you just wanted your revenge, and you didn’t care who got in the way while you got it.  You didn’t care if World War Three was started as we watched on, on that beach in Cuba, did you?  You just wanted Shaw dead- and after that, the rest of the world.  Some men just want to watch the world burn, I’ve heard.  I just never believed you’d be one of them,” I rant.  

It’s shocking, just how good it feels to get that all out.  “You didn’t care when you shot me, Erik.  You left me, lying on that beach, to go pursue some damned dream of equality for mutants.  But have you not been watching?  Equality won’t come when we’re constantly trying to fight each other.  Not when we’re blaming each other for everything.  I’ve seen the future, Erik.  And it isn’t nice at all.  We’re all slaughtered there- humans and mutants alike.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Charles…”

“Never again, you say.  That’s what the rest of the world says too.  Never again to genocide.  But that’s what you’re doing- that's genocide of humans.  And don’t ever, ever expect me to follow some… some… mutant Hitler.”

Erik freezes, shocked.  “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“That’s what you did, in the future that hopefully will never be,” I say tiredly.  “The older me forgave you, somehow.  I guess old grievances are hard to hold onto when you're facing yet another genocide.”

“You compare… me… to him?” Erik asks, voice stuttering. He’s also shaking, just a bit.  Enough to break my already shattered heart.  I did this.  

Suddenly, I wish I could take back that title.  Mutant Hitler.  That has to hurt him, so badly, after what he’s been through.  But I don’t have the power to turn back time, as much as I wish I did.

“Not you, you.  Not yet.  But that’s very much where you’re headed, in that future, Erik,” I say.

Erik nods, once.  It’s as much of an apology as he’s going to get right now, and he seems to know it.  “Why did you think I didn’t care?” he asks.  “Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave you there, old friend?”

“Then why did you do it?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice, Erik.  Just like I kept Shaw frozen in place for you.  There’s always a choice- to kill or to be merciful.”

“You were in his head.  The whole time?  You felt everything?” Erik sounds appropriately horrified.  As horrified as I am, when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, feeling that coin slice through my head.

“Everything.”

“Charles, I didn’t… I’m… I’m so sorry,” Erik whispers, reaching out to touch my hand.  I jerk back.  I can’t be near him- not now.  Probably not ever.

“Like I said.  We all have choices.  I made mine- I let you have your revenge.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you might finally find peace.  But you haven’t, have you, Erik?  You’re still fighting the same war.  So go away.  Having you here makes the pain worse.”

As usual, he ignores me.  “Hank told me you said you wanted to forget me.”

“Hank talks too much.”

“He’s worried about you.  I am, too.  Charles, why did you try to memory wipe yourself?” Erik asks.

“Because I don’t want to remember anymore!” I shout.  “I don’t remember the coin slicing through Shaw’s head, or how it felt when he died.  I don’t want to remember the pain as my legs slowly went numb on that bloody beach.  I don’t want to remember what the future looks like- the pain and fear I felt in Logan’s mind.  And… I don’t want to remember you.”

Erik looks stunned.  “Charles…”

“I’ll take Hank’s serum.  I won’t remember anything, and I certainly won’t hear anything.  I’ll be able to walk, too.”

“No.  Charles, please.”  Erik leans forward, kneeling on the ground in front of the wheelchair.  “Don’t do this to yourself.  You’re better than that.”

“How do you know?  Where have you been, for ten years?  Locked away in a prison, that’s where.  Don’t pretend you know me anymore.  Don’t presume you ever knew me.”  

“Don’t do something you’re going to regret, Charles.”

“I regret ever knowing you,” I spit out.

“Most people do.”

And I have a sudden desire to not be ever lumped in ever again with Erik’s concept of ‘most people’.  I want so badly to take back everything I’ve said- every angry, hurtful word I’ve hurled at him. But the anger is there- simmering under the pain and resentment.  I can’t find it in me to regret saying those things.  It gives me just the slightest bit of joy to see Erik flinch away from me, as I burn such a tenuous bridge to the ground.

***

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm undecided as to whether this is the end or not. It may very well be- I don't have much drive to finish it. But we shall see. If I wind up writing more, it'd probably be only a chapter or two more. Would anyone actually be interested in reading something more??

"What did you say to him?" Hank demands.

"What do you mean?"

"What. Did. You. Say. To. Him?" Hank asks again, slowly, enunciating every word.

"Why does it matter to you? You don't even like him," I mutter.

"But you do," Hank says, matter of factly. "Look, whatever you said to him, he walked away from your conversation looking like you kicked his puppy. Or maybe like he was the puppy who got kicked. So stop being an idiot, get over yourself, and talk to him without screaming your head off. Or better yet, just listen to him."

"What...?"

"Get over it, Charles. Or, knowing you, you'll regret it forever, and mope around for another decade."

"I did not mope!" I reply indignantly.

"Sure you did. You became a total alcoholic, and if that addiction with the serum wasn't moping, then I don't know what was. So get over yourself, and just go talk to him."

"I'm not going to..."

"Do you really want me to play matchmaker?" Hank asks, cutting off my thought. "If I have to, for my own sanity, I will."

"Hank..."

"Talk to him." Hank's tone brooks no room for argument. "Civilly."

"No promises."

***

"Charles, will you just listen to me?" Erik demands, and my wheelchair comes to a shuddering halt. Damn him for abusing all the metal in this blasted contraption.

"No. You nearly killed Raven."

"Charles, it was necessary," Erik says, rotating the wheelchair around so I'm facing him.

"It was necessary," I repeat, mocking him. "She's my sister."

"She was going to start a war! Besides, you're not technically siblings, Charles."

"She's as good as, then. And what if it had been me, Erik. Would you have killed me?" I ask, getting an idea.

"What?"

"You heard me. If I was the one who would have started the war, would you have tried to kill me?"

"Charles, I..."

"Would you?" I demand.

The look on Erik's face says everything. "No," he says finally. "I don't think I could do it."

"Why not?" I press.

"Please don't ask me this..."

"No. Really. Tell me," I say, wheeling my chair forward. "You were so keen on killing Raven, just to stop annihilation- why not me?"

Erik stares at me. "Why don't you look for yourself?" He gestures at his head.

“What?”

“You heard me.  Take a look.”  Erik gives me a faint smile, which looks more like a grimace than anything else.  It’s too difficult to resist such an offer.  I put my hand on the side of his face, and find myself pulled into memories:

***

...And this man, who jumped into the freezing ocean to save me, why would he do that, not worthy of being saved.  “You're not alone,” he says, and in that moment, Erik feels it.  

Training with him, watching him slowly gain the loyalty of each and every one of their small band.  Wondering what he’s ever done to deserve watching such a wonderful man.  Knowing he’s going to betray this man’s trust the second he gets close enough to Shaw to enact his revenge.

Watching in horror on the beach, but leaving anyways, because “I’m sorry my friend, but we do not” {want the same things why do they not want the same things they just want to be safe! build a safe home for the children, a world safe for them...}

The long years in prison, being sustained by only the thought of rescue some day- he was innocent in this one crime, and maybe Charles will figure it out, and come get him…

The shock, when they finally do come.  Charles’ powers, gone.  He looks so… reduced.  It’s a painful look, but Erik can’t help but hope, even after he gets punched in the face.

And overwhelmingly, with the hope, the… affection for the man who is currently beating the shit out of him.  But he can’t even complain, because once again, he’s going to betray this man who means so much…

***

I shake myself out of the memories.  “What the hell, Erik?  What was that?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Erik asks.  He’s kneeling beside the wheelchair, shaking.  “For such a brilliant person, Charles…” He shakes his head, slowly.  “Well.”  He leans forward, and presses a kiss against my mouth.

I stare at him blankly.  After all this time, when I wanted nothing more than to… My whole body is shaking.  And I’m suddenly filled with the most incongruous anger.  I punch him in the face.

Erik smiles at me, even as the dull red mark spreads across his face.  “I deserved that, I suppose.”

“The bloody hell you did!” I shout.  Then, unable to resist any longer, I pull him closer, and kiss him again.  “You’re a bloody fool,”  I add, when I pull away.

"Why's that?"

"All this bloody time!" I shout. "You, just sitting there..." I have so much more I want to yell, but I can't seem to come up with anything else articulate.

Erik takes this opportunity while I'm stuttering to kiss me again. "Shut up. We have years to make up for, here," he says.

I push my wheelchair back, away from Erik.  “Oh hell no.  Where were you for the past ten years?  You don’t get to waltz in here after abandoning me on that bloody beach as I was paralyzed- particularly after you paralyzed me.  You don’t get to walk right into my life again after hearing that I tried to wipe my own bloody mind!  Now get out.”

Erik stares at me, and it looks like I’ve kicked a puppy.  “But Charles…”

“Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  House,” I snap.  “Now.  I don’t care why you’ve come here, or what you think you’re getting.  All you’re going to get is to get out.”

“Will you just listen…?”

“No.  I don’t want to see you.  Ever again.”  That’s a blatant lie, of course.  I’d like nothing better than to see him every day for the rest of my life- wake up next to him, feel his mind by mine, everything.  But right now…

There’s no way I can let that happen.  I can’t let myself fall into that trap.  Because if I do, when Erik inevitably leaves, with his damned cause, I doubt I’ll be able to pull myself back together.

***

Once again, it’s Hank who finds me.  “Erik left,” Hank says, unceremoniously.

“Good.”

“I thought you were going to patch things up with him,” Hank says.  “He didn’t look very happy.”

“I don't care.”

“Charles…”

“Drop it, Hank.  We want things that are too different.  And I can’t forgive him for everything he’s done.” I can’t handle it when he leaves, is what I really mean.

Hank lets out a sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“No.  That’s not why I’m sorry.  I’m sorry you’re a stubborn fool who’s going to let this second chance slip through his fingers,” Hank says, surprising me.  

“Second chance for me? Or for him?”

“For both of you.”

He’s right, damn him.  If I want the future I saw in Logan’s mind to never happen, I need to start mending this broken bridge.

ERIK!!!!

***

 

 


End file.
